


Draco Malfoy and the Dementor

by starlightpeddler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, Draco encounters a Dementor, Draco is having a very bad day, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightpeddler/pseuds/starlightpeddler
Summary: Though it’s not the longest day of Draco Malfoy’s life, it’s certainly the worst. As he runs through the halls of Hogwarts as it crumbles beneath his feet, he considers the precarious position he’s found himself in.He’s a student - a child, he’s reminded now more than ever - but he’s one with a Dark Mark on his arm, and it’s burning on his skin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short piece written for a challenge back in October.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in in this work. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

Though it’s not the longest day of Draco Malfoy’s life, it’s certainly the worst. As he runs through the halls of Hogwarts as it crumbles beneath his feet, he considers the precarious position he’s found himself in.

He’s a student - a child, he’s reminded now more than ever - but he’s one with a Dark Mark on his arm, and it’s _burning_ on his skin.

He rushes down one of the staircases, and the calm is even worse than the fighting from before. The Dark Lord - his father’s master - has called for a cease-fire and has asked Harry Potter to meet him in the forest, and Draco knows that’s where his mother and father will be, so that’s where he’s going.

He thought it would have been nice under any circumstances to escape the Malfoy Manor where he’s been held for months on end, doing all the small tasks the Death Eaters have asked for. He performed them admirably, without complaint, because he doesn’t want his father punished _again_ , though he knows deep down Lucius deserves it.

Down one corridor and then another - he can still feel the heat of the fire in the Room of Requirement on his back, though he’s been out of it for at least ten minutes, and he wonders if it’ll ever fade. Already, he knows he’ll hear Crabbe’s scream as he burned in his sleep for weeks or months - maybe years.

 _Get to the forest_ , Draco tells himself, clutching a wand borrowed from the Malfoy attic - some distant relative’s artifact left behind. There’s movement down one of the hallways and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

He has reason to fear everyone in this castle now. The Death Eaters hate him, and could easily make his untimely demise look like an accident, and his fellow students have no reason to spare him. Any allies he might have are locked in the Slytherin dungeon.

Still, Draco presses on, knowing he must get to the forest. If he can just get to his mother, maybe they can escape this madness. They’ve been looking for an opportunity to disappear all year, and perhaps this is it. Draco doesn’t care where they go, as long as it’s far away and he can sleep.

He bursts into a run when he reaches the destroyed courtyard, the hard soles of his Oxfords echoing around the empty space. Through the still, dead courtyard, down the slope where Hermione Granger slapped him, past the ruins of Hagrid’s hovel, and into the forest.

Draco hasn’t been in the forest since his first year, and if the rumors are true he really doesn’t want to go back. The centaurs aren’t known for taking sides in the affairs of humans, but this is likely extreme enough that they’ll make an exception, and he’s been branded.

That’s exactly what it is, Draco knows. It’s a brand. Proof that he’s property of the Dark Lord, handed over reluctantly by his father, but given all the same.

Draco can’t even bear to think his name, much less say it and he’s well aware that he’s suffered far less than the others.

He’s weak. He’s always been weak, and now his greatest hope is that he can run away and start over with a new name and a new identity.

But he knows he’ll never be unbranded.

He’s almost across the courtyard when it happens. Everything is silent and unmoving, so Draco sees the movement immediately, not that he can do anything about it. The Dementor is on him before he can make a sound.

Draco backs up, tripping over a dislodged stone and nearly falling. He catches himself, eyes wide as he continues backing away. He wants to turn and run, but he can’t tear his eyes away as the Dementor reaches for him, it’s scaly, dead hand grasping within centimeters of his shirt as he leaps back.

Draco’s been around Dementors before - most of the older Hogwarts students have, but he’s never been this close to one.

On the train in third year, he remembered the feeling of fear and dread before the Dementors had even come into view, hearing his father’s voice admonishing him for his good-but-not-good-enough marks in Potions. He remembered feeling the sting of Lucius’ ostentatious ring on his skin when his father backhanded him and the scream of his mother cut short by Lucius’ silencing charm.

Draco realizes that he didn’t feel the Dementor before he saw it and he should have, but he also knows he’s never been more depressed than he is at that moment. His entire world is ending whether Voldemort triumphs or not - he’ll either be forced into servitude to the Dark Lord, or he’ll live his life called ‘Death Eater’ and ‘traitor’ and ‘evil.’

Both futures are so bleak that Draco stops backing away and stands still. He doesn’t want to live in either of those worlds, so why not end it now - because if there are places that souls go after death, he’s certain his isn’t going to the prettier of the two, and he’d rather everything he is be destroyed by a Dementor and be done with it.

The Dementor lowers its hood and it’s horrible. Draco looks up at it, fear spreading through every bit of his body like ice water in his veins. The wraith towers over him, it’s flaky, decaying skin looking even more gray in the night.

He hears his father again as the Dementor hovers nearer. Hears his father telling him that his only choice is to accept the mark and join him.

‘It’s the only way we’ll keep the family together, Draco.’

Draco knew what Lucius hadn’t said - that it was the only way to keep them in the Dark Lord’s good graces, and thus _alive_.

At sixteen Draco has to bear the weight of keeping his parents’ hearts beating, and he hated them for it.

‘Just do it,’ Draco mutters. Even if the borrowed wand worked better for him, Draco knows he couldn’t cast a Patronus. There’s no happiness left in him.

‘I’ve got nothing left for you,’ he says to the Dementor as it leans over him, and he’s colder than he’s ever been in his life but he doesn’t shiver. His body doesn’t have the strength to defend its self against the sensation.

The Dementor considers him - something Dementors don’t do. Without eyes, Draco can’t tell what it’s searching for, but it doesn’t seem to be finding it, and after a second or an hour - he can’t tell anymore - it backs away and drifts off, sulking into the ruins.

Draco watches it drift away, the tattered black robe billowing around its emaciated form, and as he retreats back into the castle, he wonders if the Dementor didn’t kiss him because he doesn’t have a soul left to consume.


End file.
